


The great Lindworm of London

by birbteef



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is very much a demon, Demon Deals, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Newt has a personality, Post-Canon, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), aziraphale struggles with technology, inaccurate witchcraft, playing softball with canon; let them have monster forms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-01-25 14:43:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21357919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birbteef/pseuds/birbteef
Summary: Crowley is caught in a bureaucratic Hell nightmare and has his corporation taken away for lack of any other punishment. Now he has to figure out how to handle being a 50 foot Serpent of Hell living just outside of London, while Aziraphale has other ideas.(Monster AU! Monster AU!)
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 51
Kudos: 143





	1. The beast

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know how long this is going to be but I’m so excited to get started on it. I lllllove a monster AU just as much as the next person.

Just because Crowley was good at being a snake did not mean he liked being a snake. It was the divine punishment, having his arms and legs taken from him to crawl the earth. Of course he had the self-created form that mimicked a human, but it was put together all wrong. His true form (not the earthly snake form that Aziraphale had deemed “cute”) but his actual true form, was a great beast of a serpent. A true demon.

At the moment he was waiting in the cramped back end of Dis, the municipal center of Hell where the commands and paperwork were sent from. The apocalypse business would (and should) have been the end of Crowley’s contact with Hell; however the unfortunate circumstance that he was still technically using his occult powers and performing dark miracles.

You can’t just have occult power for nothing. Angels draw their power for miracles from their love of the Lord. Crowley wasn’t really sure where demons drew their power from. Not love. And certainly not the Lord. The relative local authorities had decided something needed to be done about Crowley using these powers if they were not being used in direct service of Hell. He only realized later that the goal was to reduce his presence in Hell as much as possible to just make him not a nuisance.

They couldn’t kill him with holy water so the next best option was to just have him go away. Cast him out. Make sure he never needed to show up in Hell again for the rest of his life. 

The problem was that meant Crowley was in a bureaucratic limbo. He was also in the form of a giant winged Hell serpent. Discorporation had that side effect. 

It had been a challenge between him and Aziraphale to see who could go the longest without fucking up and getting their body killed. Crowley honestly thought he would win, given that Aziraphale did have the tendency to get discorporated in the more stupid ways. He was the first of them to get hit by a car though and he was sure the angel wouldn’t let him live that down. 

At least Hell had given him a new body. They had let him have it almost immediately as soon as he started spitting venom and fire to try and impose himself on the locals just to make him stop. If he was truly good at anything it was being professionally annoying.

News that the demon that survived holy water and averted the apocalypse was just waiting in Dis waiting for some paperwork to process got around fast. And then someone, whatever little scum it was, had come up with an idea. Crowley suspected highly it was Hastur, the toad hated him for several (reasonably good) reasons and despite how stupid he had a tendency to come off as, a toad does not become a Duke of Hell for being a moron. 

Hastur was good at things. Mainly making people miserable and being a major pain in the ass to deal with. In Hell those are commendable traits that make someone deeply worthwhile. 

But Crowley had no proof it was Hastur. Just the new rules he was being given. Or rather, wasn’t being given. 

Sure, he could keep the powers. They had no way to really turn them off since no one knew where they came from. What could be turned off, for some infernal reason, was what the powers actually did. He was allowed to keep the summoning, manipulation, granting, and other various exploits. What had been taken, just as She had ages ago, was his form.

She had made him into a great beast and now Hell was making sure he stayed like that simply because it annoyed him more than any other punishment would.

If it just set him as a snake that would have been one thing. He could handle being just stuck as a snake, Aziraphale could handle him being just stuck as a snake as well. The difference between a six foot snake and a fifty foot Serpent Of Hell were vast. 

He broke the surface of the earth with a great heave and cursed the ground he came from, spitting venom and shedding feathers. He considered himself at least lucky that he and the angel had already gotten their shared cottage but...it’s not like he could go inside it. 

Emerging from the earth as a smaller snake, or even as a man-shaped-snake, left only the smallest trace of a circle. When you’re as thick as a sedan at your widest point that isn’t exactly a choice any more. The circle was a thick tar-like stain on the ground of their garden, destroying only a few plants (but they were still plants that didn’t deserve it.)

He didn’t know how he would explain this to Aziraphale. The angel hadn’t seen him since he got discorporated. This was one of the quickest turnarounds either of them had for getting a new body. Obviously Hell didn’t want him around.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Aziraphale had seen him erupt from the groundfrom where he’d been reading in the garden only thirty feet away. At least he wouldn’t have to find a way to bring up the conversation. The angel simply stared at him for a moment, his confusion written clear on his face, “Crowley?”

It was only then that Crowley realized Aziraphale had never seen him like this. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he was a snake, but just as Crowley had never seen Aziraphale’s true form, there had been no occasion necessary enough to show the angel his own. Except now, he supposed, “Hey Angel. How long was I gone?”

Aziraphale shook his head as if trying to ignore the fact his husband was just slightly smaller than their house at the moment. “Come inside, we’ll talk about it.”

“Well that’sss the rub, isn’t it?” Crowley bent low to poke his snout right up to Aziraphale’s stomach.

‘What?” Aziraphale laughed, gently pushing the giant snake face away from him. ‘What are you talking about?” 

“Well, letsss start with the good news.” Crowley stretched his form in an easy half circle around Aziraphale and most of the garden. “I’ve still got my powers. And uh, I guess I will be keeping them for the foreseeable future. I also don’t see myself getting called back down to hell anytime soon. No more paperwork and all that. Got a bunch of backlog done. Lotssss of signing my name to things.”

Aziraphale frowned and looked at him, trailing his eyes across the giant form that was making no attempt to get less giant and come inside. He could bring up the month he’d spent wondering if Crowley was coming back, but in the past sometimes it had taken years for Crowley to get a new body even when Hell hadn’t wanted him dead. A month wasn’t so terrible. “Good news implies bad news?”

“You’re looking at it.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly, “They think they can’t kill you so they’ll just annoy you, I suppose.”

“Had something to do with making it as hard as possssible to exist in the world I tried to save or something, not actually sure I really wasn’t paying too much attention. But uh. Erm. Can’t uh. Can’t...not be a giant snake.”

Aziraphale crossed his arms, thinking about this. “You’re a bit more than a snake at the moment.”

Crowley lamented the ability to shrug. “Wings notwithstanding I’m basically a snake. Snake adjacent. Snakeish.”

“I’ve never seen you like this.” Aziraphale uncrossed his arms and took a step forward to inspect Crowley’s form. “I’ve seen your more...earthly form of course. I had no idea you were so…” he rolled his hand around in thought for the right word, “large”

“As far as demons go I’m not actually all that impressive. Not that you’ve seen many of us like this.” Crowley sagged to the ground so Aziraphale could look at him. The angel pressed his hands to Crowley’s side, running them over the smooth scales that disappeared periodically into patches of dark coiled feathers. “At least it feels nice to finally stretch and not be cooped up in a little six foot man body.”

Aziraphale ignored that implication and distracted himself by straightening and preening the downy fluff running along Crowley’s back. He pressed a soft kiss to Crowley’s back. “I think you’re plenty impressive, but...this is a problem.”

The kiss burned hot against his side as a little mark of love this body wasn’t supposed to receive. “I’m not going to be able to take you to your shop. Or anywhere. Oh bless it I wouldn’t even be able to drive the bentley even if I could fit in it, no hands.”

“Do you think I can miracle you smaller?” Aziraphale asked then and wiggled his fingers. “That’s all you did to get yourself a human body in the past, right? It’s just been the snake form all mushed around to look like a man.”

Crowley would not ever have described it like that, but Aziraphale wasn’t technically wrong. “That’s...a nice thought. I’m not exactly eager to see how divine intervention can squeeze me down to a ninth of my size. Let me terrorize the land for a bit. It’s been a while since dragons roamed the English countryside.”

“They never roamed the English countryside, that’s all Welsh. You know that.”

If Crowley’s eyes were able to roll he would have rolled them. He settled for letting the feathers in his wings puff up indignantly. “Still. English or not, we live in the middle of nowhere. I can exist for at least a little bit before I need a fix. Then if you wanna squish me down into a man we will see if you can.”

Aziraphale gave a small pout. His “magic” had a tendency to lie more in happenstance-like luck rather than actual physical alterations. A parking spot would just be open at the right time. Dinner reservations would always go through. Splashes from puddles always tended to miss the bottoms of his pants legs. He could, if he tried very hard, make physical alterations happen. But that manipulation was always easier handled by Crowley, and with the arrangement being set up Aziraphale had fallen out of practice simply by virtue of having Crowley miracle up the random objects needed to fulfill whatever drivel heaven needed. 

Also if they needed a bottle of wine at a moments notice Crowley’s always tended to taste just a little bit better, for whatever reason. Real wine was always preferable to wine simply pulled from the ether but emergencies happened. 

He really wasn’t sure if he could put Crowley into a human form. He wasn’t even sure if he could make him smaller. He wasn’t even remotely sure he could alter the way Crowley looked in any way shape or form at all. He’d simply never tried. Maybe if he thought about it really hard over dinner, when he came out the next morning Crowley would just happen to be a man again. He knew that wasn’t likely but it wasn’t as if he couldn’t try. 

“I’m really not sure I can squish you at all, my dear.” He finally said after a moment's thought on the matter. “You know I’m not as...proficient at these things. Maybe the Tadfield witch has something.”

“Anathema? It’s been a hot second since we’ve been there. I’m not sure she hasn’t gone back to America by this point.”

“Dreadful business. I’m sure she hasn’t.”

“Surely,” Crowley laughed. “You care to inform her a nightmare is going to visit or shall I impose myself on the cottage? I haven’t gotten to terrorize anything since the middle ages.”

Aziraphale shook his head in a sharp no. “Even if the antichrist didn’t live there you know I cannot allow that. Humans will see you. I’m not sure it isn’t a better idea to simply call her over. In fact-” he clicked his fingers and had the good fortune to find Crowley’s smart phone in his jacket pocket “I think I will send her a—” he looked at the phone as if to possibly remember the word for ‘text’ in a mind that forgets the concept of texting even exists half the time. He instead shook the phone at Crowley to emphasize his point. “I’ll work on it.”

—-

Anathema was a woman who prided herself on her ability to take things in stride. One main benefit of having your life planned for you was that nothing actually came as too much of a surprise. She always knew what was coming, and when she didn’t know the future she was ready enough to know how to handle it anyway.

But never in her life had she been able to choose something for herself. Agnes said nothing on whether or not she would stay with this man, with this cottage, with these friends. If it was spoken about in the second book, then she would never know. She chose him herself, made him a part of her life herself, and decided on their future without anyone’s outside input. Except his.

She was good at taking things as they come. Like for instance a call from a recognized number she hadn’t added to her contacts listing a name she hadn’t learned but knew all too well the owner of. Anthony Crowley. She didn’t know he was a demon, but she did suspect him and his partner were occultists of some kind.

The voice over the phone was decidedly not the lanky man she was picturing it to be. “Hello, Anathema dear?”

It was the shorter of the two. Why the number registered as the other one she didn’t know. “Yes? Who is thi-” she cut herself off, “-how did you get my number? I didn’t give it to you.”

“No, but I needed it.” Came the soft voice. She didn’t understand how that was possibly an answer. “But dear girl, to the point: What are the limitations of your Magics?”

“Excuse me?” She asked. “I don’t even know your name?”

“Oh, I thought we’d been introduced but I guess not. Forgive me. Anathema Device, I am Aziraphale, we met at the airbase during the end of the world, and I need your help.”

She knew what he was talking about now, at least. Adam had shifted things around a little bit after the apocalypse. She didn’t remember how she got home from the airbase, or when Newt had showed up at her doorstep. But she did know she’d seen this Aziraphale man before. Maybe they’d added contacts before Adam wiped her memory? She wasn’t sure. “You’re the one with the sword, another witch I assume?”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, “...yes?” He questioned. “Though I don’t have the sword any more. Collections came.”

“Well, you seem to remember more than I do, I guess. What do you need help with?” She wasn’t sure what else to do besides offer her assistance. Aziraphale and his partner hadn’t done anything in the final fight besides hold each other and talk to some people. Gave Adam a bit of a pep talk as well. Maybe they just weren’t very good at their magic. She remembered their auras were massive though, perhaps they were spectralists? Drawn to the antichrist’s supernatural energy? She didn’t know, so she’d have to figure it out.

“What are the limitations of your Magics?” he asked again, followed by a strange muffled thumping noise and a soft “Crowley no!” In the background.

That was an open ended question for Anathema. “Limitations in what way? Are you asking how far I can cast or..?” She had no idea what he was after.

There was more shuffling on the other end of the line followed by a solid thudding like a door closing before Aziraphale spoke again. “I simply mean the type of magic. The...oh how do you say it. Is your power only in locating antichrists or can you do other things?”

“I can do many things.” Anathema said proudly.

“Can you, perhaps, alter the size of an object?”

That was a little more physical than she was used to but she was sure there were spells for such a thing. “I'm sure I can.”

“What about the size of a person?”

Anathema balked. “‘this isn’t some- some- weird sex thing right? I’ll hang u-“

“NO!” Aziraphale was quick to interject. “No! Crowley has had an...accident; I guess you could say. I'm loathe to spill the details over the phone. you never know who can listen in. Would you mind so much if we made a stop over? Discuss it?" 

Accident? Crowley was the thin man and Aziraphale was using his phone. Anathema was starting to slot this story into place. “I normally wouldn’t mind, especially since it’s so rare I get to talk to other witches, but I’m not in Tadfield right now.”

“Not in...of course. Yes. Do you know when you may return?” Aziraphales voice was thick with worry. 

“In about a week. I wanted to introduce Newt to my family.”

“If you would be so kind as to phone me when you return,” Aziraphale took a moment from the phone while all she heard was more rustling on his end, “I can get you compensation for your help. Of course.”

“Sure. Right. Okay Mr. Aziraphale, I’ll give you a call. Goodbye.” She quickly shut the call off. Something about this seemed...not quite right. Crowley, with that dangerous aura, having an accident and now needs some kind of alteration magic? Her mind went immediately to the idea that he’d summoned a demon and was now reaping the consequences of such a stupid action. Poor Aziraphale, to be caught in that crossfire.


	2. The message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew a lindworm Crowley here if you would like to picture the wing situation https://twitter.com/birbteef/status/1193038754279313408?s=21

Crowley, as a rule, did not did not hang around places long unless he had a reason to. Aziraphale was always the most compelling reason, but if he couldn’t fit in his own house then there was only so many times he could wander around the garden before he started to get bored. 

Aziraphale had told him to stay there but he’d never been good at doing what he was told. Though this form was obviously not the best at moving undetected, he was able to make sure he was unseen. Now that humans lived in an age where dragons and other beasts weren’t roaming the countryside they weren’t expecting to find a giant Hell snake. And because they didn’t expect to find a giant Hell snake, they didn’t.

Crowley didn’t really miss crawling around forests and the like. There was a reason he’d given himself two legs and holed up in cities. Something about rubbing up on a tree and sliding through the grass was nostalgic though. Just being himself and not magically squashed felt so freeing. He wouldn’t want to be like this forever (he already missed his hands) but the loose disconnected feeling was oddly satisfying for something that was supposed to be a punishment.

He could prop himself up on his wings and sort of hobble if he needed to, but it was absolutely no replacement for true arms. He wasn't sure he could even fly in this form, not that he wanted to. Crawling around was easy enough to miracle away attention from, but flying added a whole other can of worms. Plus he was heavy, and wings could only do so much. They’d been kept by Her to mock him of course, but he was glad to have at least some limbs, even if they were the more useless of them. No actually, he thought. How useless of a snake to have two little back legs and nothing else? 

Over the centuries he’d slipped into this form from time to time. The easiest way to make someone leave a place he’d been ordered to make barren (for whatever reason) was to make them think some terrible monster was going to eat them. Not that he would ever eat a human, gross, but the humans didn’t need to know that. 

But of course there’s only so many times you can show up as a beast before some human with a sword comes along and decides it’s a good day to go hunting. Crowley never had any delusions about what a well placed sword could do to him, despite the dramatic size difference. Of course, back then he could just slip back into a human body and let the local lindworms take the blame. Now he couldn’t slip away, and there were no lindworms around to scapegoat.

Not that he even thought he looked like a lindworm anyway. Lindworms were nasty little things born in Hell like imps were. If anything he would liken his true self to an amphithere but he wasn’t a dragon in the first place. He was a snake. A giant Hell snake with wings, but still a snake. 

He pulled himself to a gentle rolling pasture and tasted the air before crawling out into it. He hadn’t been paying too much attention to where he was headed, but he could tell it was towards London. The air was getting just ever so slightly more acidic in a way he associated with the pollution of the city. 

He knew going to the city was not a good idea. Frankly leaving the cottage at all was not a good idea. He lifted himself up tall and scanned the horizon, seeing nothing but the small occasional farmhouse or cottage. No one would see him. Safe, yes. But boring.

Hell would give him a new corporation if he got the body killed because he was too much of a nuisance to be wandering around down there. It would be better for everyone involved if that just didn’t happen. But if he went back to the cottage he’d have to listen to Aziraphale fret and worry about getting him back to his previous state. Not that he didn’t want that, but he was willing to have a little bit more patience in the matter than the angel was.

How odd it seemed to him that Aziraphale was more concerned about this than him. For all his posturing and manners the angel sure did seem to have a problem with anything he considered out of the ordinary. And Crowley got it, of course he understood. Aziraphale hadn’t had any kind of stability for hundreds of years before he’d finally retired and moved in with Crowley. 

Crowley held no false ideas of how much he meant to Aziraphale. But the fretting got old very fast. He’d not meant to go this far, or be gone this long. The angel wouldn’t know if he was in trouble, and it hadn’t even been a full day since he’d crawled back to earth from the previous discorporation.

He needed to get back to normal. But he also needed to not be around someone who’s entire existence at the moment revolved around changing what he was. He’d work on his body later. When the witch came back from America. Till then he had a week to slither around and do whatever deeds he saw fit. 

London was a bad idea. He turned around and started to slither back into the woods he’d come from. The city was an absolute no-go at the moment. But his cottage was also not something he wanted to deal with at the moment.

Maybe he could go to Tadfield at antagonize the Locals till Anathema got back. He miracled a message to his own phone that would make a very obnoxious noise to make sure Aziraphale heard it. He wasn’t sure the angel had kept the thing on him after calling Anathema, or if he knew how to open a text to read it, but he would make sure the words were big enough to cover the whole screen if looked at on the lock screen notification. 

::GONE TO TADFIELD. LOVE YOU. DONT WORRY.  
-CROWLEY::

—

Crowley hadn’t remembered that the antichrist lived in Tadfield till he was over two thirds of the way there. Why he hadn’t remembered this, he didn’t know. That boy was the entire reason he knew Tadfield and Anathema even existed. He couldn’t just not go to Tadfield, he’d definitely already told Aziraphale he would and the angel wouldn’t appreciate getting a ::whoops never mind going somewhere else love, cheers:: text. Provided he even got the first one, of which Crowley was dubious. 

If he had hands he’d be furiously rubbing his face with them. He opted instead to just ruffle his feathers and coil up tightly for a moment before releasing. This sucked. Maybe he could just lay low and bask in some field till the witch came back. The antichrist had specifically asked for no more involvement of heaven or hell. While he and Aziraphale were technically free agents and more importantly retired, he didn’t know how the young boy would react to a literal hell snake demon being loose in his town. 

He mashed his face into the ground and rolled in a fit. Oh, how he missed having hair to furiously tug on. He could lay low for a week. Burrow into the ground and expect no one to notice him. He’s done stupider things for sure. 

—

He arrived at dusk, the small town seemed so different now that he wasn’t full of the worst anxiety of his entire life inside a burning car. He made sure not to go into the town properly, just skirting around the edges to see what there was to be seen. 

What was to be seen was not a lot. Small town indeed. Where even was Jasmine cottage? Was it on the outskirts or was it one of those things in the middle of town that were just called cottages simply because they were cute? He cursed himself for not thinking this through at all. 

It was now a matter of pride. There was absolutely no way he could go back to Aziraphale, who may or may not have gotten his message, and tell him he didn’t even know where he was going. 

He scented the air and tried his damnedest to sense out mortal magic. With Adam around everything smelled like magic though, the gentle breeze and the pleasantly cool night carried mortal magic in its mere existence. The fertile grass, the copacetic houses, the gentle animals, they all had magic just radiating off of them. This town was well loved by someone who wanted it to love him back, and it clearly did. 

There was a trace though, just a hint of something like patchouli and wax. 

—

Aziraphale had been very alarmed when Crowley’s phone made a terribly aggressive beeping noise at him. He was positive Crowley did not have that as a normal setting because he would have heard it at least once. Meaning, if it was doing something abnormal, maybe he should pay attention. 

As soon as it unlocked it brought him to a screen that simply had an “emoji” (Warlock taught him) of a snake and a simple but clear message.

Tadfield? Why not just come home? He wished Crowley had called him. The written word was a wonderful advancement of human society and did not deserve to be treated as texting treated it. It was all incomprehensible shorthand and hidden meanings inside pictures. Terrible. 

He remembered from what seemed like a lifetime ago when Crowley had sat him down in the back of his old bookshop and very carefully tried to explain how the iPhone worked. He should have paid better attention. He should have accepted the changing technology with better grace because now he was looking at this message with no clear idea what to do with it. There...wasn’t a number. It was just a little snake emoji.

He then realized, because Aziraphale is nothing if not intelligent, that this hadn’t been sent by a phone. He had Crowley’s phone; Crowley didn’t have hands to text; so this wasn’t a text. It was just a message with no way to reply because it had been simply sent from the ether. He grumbled to himself and shoved the phone back into his pocket. Looks like he’d just have to go to Tadfield.

Aziraphale then had the exact same realization about Adam that it took Crowley almost an hour to have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The punctuation of ::text:: comes from the Transformers fandom for their internal comm systems. I have no idea how to punctuate a written out text message since it isn’t being spoken, so I’ve used that. If quotations are correct, then fuck em, don’t tell me. 
> 
> This is super super unbeta’d and edited a little tipsy. I’m sure there are problems.


	3. The man

For everything it was worth, Newt was doing his best to be a dutiful house husband. He had absolutely no false ideas about who was pulling the shots in his and Anathemas relationship, and was honestly just so thankful to be taken along. She was lovely and incredible and every day he woke up to her he was thankful.

But now she was in America and Newt was experiencing a strange emotion he hadn’t been used to. Loneliness. He had always been a guy that had been able to get along without much assistance. Then Anathema had given him the greatest year of his entire life, entirely by chance. The loneliness was new. The longing and the pining were especially new. He’d never been interested in anyone before, and now his entire being was laser sight pointed at Anathema. His entire being revolved around her exactly the way she wanted it to. And she was in America telling her relatives that she had found a boy, all while keeping him there in England. It wasn’t fair.

Anathemas relationship with God was straightforward and to the point. She didn’t break any rules, and God left her alone. God left all humans alone but she especially left descendants who know the future alone. Better to just not meddle. 

Newt’s relationship with God was tentative at best. He’d never really believed in anything for most all of his life. He’d been to church as a boy, and stopped as he grew. Not because of lack of things to do, but because of a misunderstanding he had with the meanings and words. He wanted to think there was more to life than what was on earth, but so far nothing had proven such a thing to be true. Why would an almighty being create such mediocrity. It’s why he’d taken up with computers and science in the first place, it was something that had a cold proof to it. Just because it never worked didn’t mean he didn’t know how to make it work. 

And that exact skepticism, the idea he had that things either exist or don’t, is why he was the only resident in the town of Tadfield to notice the fifty foot demon.

—

The scent Crowley had picked up had taken him to a strange little house. It was suburban for sure, but in an outfield sort of way where he felt more comfortable to slink up next to the house and take a peek inside. His magic was strong enough if he really wanted nothing to notice him, he could all but plow through their damn house and they’d be none the wiser. 

Which is why he had no idea what to do when a young man he vaguely recognized was staring directly at him as he peered in the window. 

They both stood still, Newt sure of his own insanity and Crowley sure of his own incompetence. The amount of time they simply looked at one another in a strange standstill likely felt much longer to both parties than it actually was. It was broken only by Newt slowly leaning forwards to open the window, clearing his throat, and taking a hesitant breath before saying, “you need to leave.”

Crowley simply stared back at him. 

“You need to leave right now!” Newt was getting braver in his voice. “I know you’re either not real or here for Anathema. But she’s not here. Just me. And you don’t want me, so leave!”

Crowley slipped lower to bring a single yellow eye directly in front of the window, staring right at Newt. “My miracles don’t work here? Is it the antichrist’s doing?”

“I don’t know about any magic.” Newt crossed his arms as if he had any kind of upper hand in this conversation. “And I’m certainly no antichrist.”

Crowley would have laughed at him if he wasn’t so genuinely perplexed. The house had all kinds of wards and magic-proofing, but none of it would make Crowley’s miracles simply not work. He’d probably have some difficulty getting into the house if he was man-shaped, but he could still be unnoticed if he needed to be. He flicked his tongue out and took a long drag of the scent. Wax. Wards. Paper. Tar. Brick. Humans. And something...else. It wasn’t the house and it wasn’t the antichrist’s magic. It was just Newt and some kind of magic on him. Interesting. Maybe he had something to fill the week after all.

“I’ve met you, you know.” He finally hissed back at the human. “At the airbase.”

Newt’s memories of that night were positively scrambled. He remembered doing lovely things with Anathema, then a lot of walking and something with computers. He remembered people his brain was actively trying its hardest to keep him from remembering. When he’d shown up on Anathema’s doorstep the evening after everything happened he’d done his best to recall the events with her, but they both remembered very different things. 

Anathema only remembered Aziraphale and Crowley because she had met them before. Newt was distracted by the lady with a sword. “I think I would remember a giant fuckoff snake.”

Crowley made a wiggle that was reminiscent of a shrug, but only barely. “Sure. But you’ve slept since then so who knows what you remember. I’m not so sure myself sometimes.”

Newt frowned. “You’re not uh. A normal snake, are you?”

Crowley did let out a laugh this time, “No! Pray tell, what gives it away? A giant talking hellsnake not normal enough for you?”

“Well you haven’t got to give me sass about it.” Newt crossed his arms over the other direction to indicate his cross-ness, “I’m still new to all this magic stuff.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. I know you’ve been whacked up with the witch but you’ve got an old stink about you. Not your fault I’m sure.”

Newt had no idea what he was talking about. “Listen, she’s not even here. If you’re here about...magic stuff or whatever, you’ll have to come back later.” 

“I haven’t really got anywhere else to go. Actually, hey, have you got a mobile?”

Newt noticed the change in subject but wasn’t sure if he wanted to press it. “Why?” He pulled out a brick of a phone that likely hadn’t been in circulation since 2004.

“Can you make me a call?”

—

Aziraphale was in flight near halfway to Tadfield when Crowley’s phone started to ring. He perched precariously atop a telephone line and looked at the vibrating screen. It was just a phone number and two buttons. One green, one red. He shouldn’t pick up Crowley’s phone calls. It may be someone important and he’d hate to interfere. But also...what if it was urgent? Did Crowley have anyone to call him urgently that wasn’t Aziraphale. The angel bit his thumb in worry and kept staring at the phone until, miraculously, it stopped ringing. 

He gave out a soft sigh of relief and nearly got it put away before it vibrated again, a new message of “voicemail (1)” appearing on the screen. And Aziraphale, bad angel that he was, was so easily tempted. 

“Hold the phone up, no higher, I need to speak into it. No he has to hear me. Ok now hold it. Aziraphale! I’m in Tadfield! I found the witches house but she’s not home. Well you already knew she wasn’t home. I did too. Don’t know why I came here, really. Just had to get up and go, you know? anyway, I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’m hanging out with Newt. Remember him? He’s…” the voice trailed off for a second. “Adam is here somewhere the whole place stinks of human magic. Dunno what he’ll do if he finds me. Kinda worried about that but. You know, alls well that ends well. Love ya, angel.”

And the message had some fumbling noises and a soft “ok I’m done” before clicking off.

Aziraphale frowned at the smartphone. What did “hanging out with Newt” mean? He shoved the phone in his pocket and looked to the sky towards Tadfield. It didn’t sound like Crowley expected him to come after him. Which was honestly stupid, of course Aziraphale would come after him. He fluffed his wings up and took a step off the telephone pole, falling a short distance for speed and taking off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord help me I will try to make Newt interesting


	4. The curse

Newt had seemed to relax over the course of his phone call, (just a recording, really). Apparently telling the angel they were ‘hanging out’ had made the man ease up. “So What are you, then?” Newt asked pointedly. 

“A demon. From Hell. Think more like Fuseli than Bosch.”

Newt gave him a big look over. “Really?”

“Haven’t really got a reason to lie to you about it. If I’m not a demon then I’m one hell of a snake. Heh.”

Newt seemed to frown, whether at the terrible pun or his own thoughts Crowley wasn’t sure. “So I met you, a demon, before. Is what you’re telling me?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say we ‘met’ per say but we were involved in the same scenario together. I know your boss. Technically I’m paying you.” (Newt’s obvious bewilderment made Crowley have to back up a second.) “Shadwell. I pay Shadwell. Shadwell pays you.”

“Shadwell doesn’t pay me?” Newt seemed even more confused than before.

“He doesn’t pay you? He doesn’t bloody pay you? I know you lot aren’t doing anything worthwhile but I’m literally giving him money to give to you. That’s the most undemonic thing I can do! Charity! Eugh!” Crowley seemed to spit the word. 

Newton considered bringing up the fact that technically Shadwell had given him a couple cents once but decided to ignore it. “But...we’ve met though? Back to the point?” Newt asked again.

“Yes, at the airbase. We met. Kind of. I was a handsome young man with red hair and a burnt up suit at the time. Aziraphale and I stopped the apocalypse. You’re welcome.

Newt shut his eyes and pressed the palms of his hands to them. “I stopped the apocalypse. I broke the computers. I don’t very well know what part you played in the whole thing but I was the one who physically turned it all off.”

Crowley paused at that. The magic or whatever it was had flared when Newton spoke of his deeds. There was definitely something odd about this man. “You remember doing it?”

“Yes. Well- No. Yes. I remember the relief. The knowledge I had finally done something right.” Another little flair of the magic came up. “Anathema said she remembered me making the missiles not launch and...I sort of do as well. It’s like a dream, like everything happens in reverse when I try to remember.”

Crowley flicked his tongue out and drew hard on the scent of that magic. What was that? Familiar in a way and yet so odd. “That’s because Adam reset time. You lost a solid half of a day and your brain is trying to fix it. You probably remember more than any other human out there besides your witch. Good job on the computers.” 

He licked the air again, frustrated the source wasn’t coming to him. He knew what this was. He knew it he just couldn’t remember.

“So it’s real then? I did save the world?”

Crowley shifted to make himself more comfortable and rested his chin against the open window frame. “More than I did. I just gave Adam a pep talk. I will keep taking credit for it though, you cannot stop me.”

“I saved the world from the antichrist, and I met a demon. So that means...hell is real?”

“Hell is very much real.” Crowley usually hated this line of questioning, but he had literally nothing else to do in this moment and he found Newton Pulsifer’s lack of fear relieving. Humans always worried about his mere presence as if getting their soul damned didn’t have anything to do with their own actions.

“Am I going to wind up there because I’m talking to you? Or does saving the world negate that?”

Crowley laughed. “Newt, I can assure you, you haven’t done anything cruel or unjust enough to warrant yourself damned. Not even close. Stopping the apocalypse was a truly neutral event. Heaven doesn’t like it, Hell doesn’t like it. It hasn’t tipped your scale to one or the other in the slightest because they’re both mad you’ve done it.”

“But...you’re a demon right? You said so. Doesn’t that make this-” he gestured between the two of them in an imploring fashion, “-an issue?”

“If simply talking to someone is a sin then everyone is a sinner.”

“Isn’t everyone a sinner anyway?”

That question was so unexpected Crowley’s laugh was practically a bark. “Yes! That’s the whole point! You can’t be perfect. You're human! You make dumb little mistakes and sins all the time and don’t realize it. You really have to fuck up to go to Hell. My job was to encourage bad behavior, no human is going to go and do something terrible on my account without at least wanting to do it a little bit in the first place.”

“But I’m not going to Hell?” Newt leaned in as if Crowley was the only person who’d ever told him anything important. 

“I can’t predict the future. But if you’re worried the act of meeting me will damn you, rest assured, Newton Pulsifer, as of right now your soul is safe.” 

As soon as those words left his mouth the little strand of magic flared back up as if in defiance. Clearly this wasn’t something Newt was doing. Something was being done to him. Against him. Crowley flicked his tongue against the air one more time with this new information in mind and finally realized what he was tasting. A curse. Hundreds of years old, passed from father to son, twisting and breaking itself all along the way to form something new and dark and powerful.

Crowley watched in rapt attention as the man seemed to relax with the knowledge that he was safe. This was going to be a very interesting way to spend his week. “How did you say you stopped the missiles?”

—

Aziraphale was a very intelligent angel. He wasn’t outwardly proud about it, because pride was a sin, but he was very aware of his own traits. Whenever they needed to figure out a plan to their problems, it was almost always Aziraphale who worked it out. 

But right now, he was trying to track down a creature that had put a very strong “don’t look at me!” suggestion on himself. For his efforts Aziraphale was getting a headache. He’d flown all over Tadfield and kept running into very weird perception problems. Things seemed...just too much. Or not enough. Or he’d just forget what he was looking for. Or think he was looking for something else entirely. 

It had to be Adam. He’d wanted to make sure no angel or demon ever came looking for him so clearly he had put up some kind of anti-ethereal/occult search magic. Plus Crowley was hiding his presence from every living thing possible, angels included. Aziraphale felt the headache start to needle itself right into his left temple. Crowley wasn’t necessarily in danger. He hadn’t asked Aziraphale to come after him. Actually he’d asked the exact opposite. 

Aziraphale sat down on top of the telephone pole he was currently perched on and rubbed his face with his hands. Novels that hinged on miscommunication as a main plot device were dull and not worth his time. So why was he partaking in just that very same behavior? Crowley had actively gone out of his way to contact Aziraphale twice now. He was clearly checking in, letting the angel know he was okay. Maybe… maybe Aziraphale should let him do his thing. 

Aziraphale was a very intelligent angel. But he was not necessarily a clever angel. Crowley had showed him how to use the phone. He knew he had been shown how to call the number back that had called him. He hadn’t cared at the time and he cursed his past self for being so uptight. It was for situations exactly like this that Crowley had shown him how to used the damned thing and he hadn’t paid a lick of attention.

But he didn’t even know who’s phone it was! Anathema had been easy to call because he knew who she was. If he wanted to connect to her he just had to want it really badly and the phone would do the work. It wasn’t as if he could just call Crowley, this was Crowley’s phone. You can’t call a phone on the phone and Crowley didn’t even have hands. 

Intelligent angel that he was, he then (correctly) assumed the phone was Newt’s but when he tried to call Newt the phone just...wouldn’t go. Like the man didn’t have a number. No amount of imploring and pleading made the miracle pass through. It wasn’t Newt’s phone, it couldn’t possibly be Crowley’s phone, what the hell number was it?

He bit his lip and scrubbed his face with his hands. This was stupid. This was so stupid! He knew the answer was just out of his reach, if only he had someone that knew how these phones worked.

“What are you doing up there?” Came a soft voice. 

Aziraphale whipped himself around and nearly fell off of the telephone pole in the panic. Then, the absolute terror that rocked through him caused exactly that. He hit the ground hard and stayed there, not even sure if he should bother getting up given the fate he knew he was sure to encounter. Stupid angel. 

“Oh No!” A curly haired blond head poked itself into his sight as the antichrist held out a hand to help him up. “I didn’t mean to scare you! Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adam: you got games on your phone?


	5. The knowing

Angels and demons have different aspects and abilities depending on their ranks and what they were created to do. But for thousands of years since the beginning of the Earth, besides God, they were the only supernatural creatures about the Earth. There was a single event in which God made a human son but he was an outlier.

Adam was also an outlier. And worse, unlike Jesus who had a pretty strict rhetoric he was following, Adam was just doing his own thing. He’d proven himself to at least not be interested in following his satanic father’s desires, but that didn’t mean he was interested in doing the right thing.

He’d actively threatened heaven and hell from meddling in the affairs of Earth. And what was Aziraphale except a professional Earth-meddler? That was the only thing he was even remotely good at! He’d been created to be a guard and he royally fucked that up nearly immediately. His whole 6000 year stint on earth had been a meddle. He wasn’t employed by heaven any more but he knew Adam was a preteen and likely didn’t care about his employment status.

Meaning: Aziraphale was terrified. The moment of his fall from the lamp post had been one of the worst instances of time he'd ever had inflicted on him. Adam the Antichrist, who could bend the Earth to his will, who had banned angels from his vicinity, was right in front of him; and all he'd done is fall off a light pole. 

“Are you okay?” The antichrist asked him. He had approached Aziraphale quickly in the aftermath, “That’s kind of a far fall.” Aziraphale stared at him in horror as he pulled his hand back and then squatted down next to the angel. “have you hit your head?”

Aziraphale was still deciding if it was a good idea to attempt to get up or not with Adam looking over him. “What?”

Adam chewed the inside of his cheek in thought before reaching out and tapping on Aziraphale’s forehead. The angel definitely felt some kind of infernal magic work through him but if it had any effect or change it wasn’t readily apparent. The little boy spoke again, “You didn’t hit your head I guess. Why are you still on the ground?”

"Are you...you’re asking me if I have a concussion?” Aziraphale finally decided he needed to at least engage in this conversation.

Adam had the audacity to look nervous. As if he couldn’t turn Aziraphale into a little pile of goo at a thought. “I hit mine falling once. Wasn’t allowed to sleep till I went to the hospital. Yours is fine though, I checked.”

Aziraphale slowly sat up, propping himself on his elbows to look closer at the boy. “I...am fine. Thank you. Angels...can get hurt just like humans. Yes. Though I’m a little more resilient than a couple meters fall.”

Adam flashed him a smile and held out his hand again to help Aziraphale up. “I’m glad. What are you doing here?”

Aziraphale hesitantly took the hand and stood up. He flapped his wings to shake off the dust before tucking them away. He pointedly ignored how Adam had tentatively reached out to touch them, given that they hadn't made contact. “I’m...looking for Crowley. That’s all. I know you told us to stay out of your things and leave the Earth alone but...we aren’t doing anything untoward, I assure you.”

“Un-what?”

“Untoward. Inconveniencing. Or, meddling. I’m not here to bother you is what I’m saying.”

“Oh, No you’re fine.” Adam assured quickly. “I didn’t mean that for you. You can bother me.”

Aziraphale paused again, mulling this over. “You aren’t going to smite me?”

“Why would I? You’re nice.” Adam grinned up at him. “The rest of them can piss off though.”

Aziraphale felt the relief wash over him in waves. “Thank you, Adam. That means more than I’m sure you know.” If it were any other child he would add a reminder that they shouldn't swear. 

Adam just shrugged and then looked at the pole Aziraphale had been perched on. “Why were you up there?”

“I- I told you I’m looking for Crowley. He’s uh...he’s a very large snake at the moment, and he’s using as much of his magic to hide himself from detection as he can.”

Adam’s eyes lit up as soon as Aziraphale said he was a snake. “My school has a snake! Do you have to feed Crowley rats too?”

“Oh- uh. No.” Aziraphale rubbed the back of his neck. “He’s still himself. Actually I guess he’s more himself now than he was before but, no. I don’t think he wants a rat. We’re trying to get him to look like a human again.”

“Can I help?”

Aziraphale didn’t know the answer to that question. Could he help? Sure. Should he help? Maybe not. “Well-” he started tactfully “-Crowley made the same assumption I did that you didn’t want us messing about in your business. I would like your help, but I’m not so sure he would.”

“Fair enough.” Adam seemed disappointed. 

“Maybe, maybe you could help me find him?” Aziraphale cocked his head in an encouraging manner. Crowley was always the better with kids, but Aziraphale could pull his charming weight when needed. “I’m not sure you should use any of your magic on him proper, but finding him should be enough.”

“Yeah!” The antichrist seemed excited to be able to help. “Can I call my friends?”

Aziraphale had to pause again, “I think perhaps that might be a bad idea. Again, he...is a giant snake at the moment. And I do mean giant. You are a brave little boy but I don’t think any of your friends need to be put in any danger when it’s a situation that can be handled entirely peacefully.”

Adam frowned, “they wouldn’t attack him.”

“Oh dear, it’s not him I’m worried about.” Aziraphale said as if it were the final say on the subject. Crowley wouldn't attack human children, of that he was certain. But human children did have a tendency to get under foot (or coil) and Aziraphale had enough experience with humans to know when it was better to just not risk unneeded accidents. 

Adam nodded solemnly, “so how do we find him?”

“To start I need you to take down the wards you have up first. They’re messing with my ability to find- well, to find anything, really.”

Adam looked down at his hands and then back up to Aziraphale, “what’s a ward?”

“They are the shields you have up. The protection that you have created around this place. Sometimes they are a physical barrier, like what I have in my bookshop. Other times they’re just meant to disorient and confuse, like what you’ve created. You’ve made something that I assume was to keep angels and demons from finding you. All the searching miracles and magic I’ve tried to apply just leaves me a little directionless and lightheaded. Once I even forgot who I was looking for!”

“I guess I did a good job then.” Adam replied as if he hadn't realized he'd put any wards up at all. Which was probably likely, given he wouldn't have done it as a conscious act and merely a sense of self preservation. 

Aziraphale couldn't help but give a proud little smile, “You did a terrific job on the wards, they’re very powerful. I do need you to take them down for me to find anything though.”

“How do I do that?” Adam asked.

Aziraphale chewed on his lower lip for a moment, wondering how he should word this. “You...just need to think about it.”

Adam screwed his face up tight and then looked at his hands. After a moment of silence passed he looked back to Aziraphale, “is that it?”

As he looked around and decided nothing had changed Aziraphale then had the terrible, slow, and creeping realization that Adam had no idea how to properly use his powers at all. 

—

Newt scratched at the back of his head as he thought about the question. “I tried to fix the console. I mean, I broke it. It wasn’t working and I tried to fix it but I broke it in the process.”

“And that’sss a common occurrence for you?” Crowley asked.

Newt shrugged. “All my life. Anathema says I was destined for it, but I don’t know if I believe in that kind of thing. It is a lucky coincidence I guess.”

“What if…” Crowley was getting an idea, “what if I told you I know what’s wrong with you?”

“Is there something wrong with me?”

Crowley made a little snort of a noise, “Not with you specifically. Did you ever read holes?”

Newt just gave him a confused look in response, clearly not sure what that had to do with anything. 

“It’s a book. It, well, okay. There’s this part where a guy’s ancestor does something shitty and gets cursed and then it passes through generations and they’re all a little cursed and thus this conversation would have been better if you read the book but what I’m trying to say is: you’re cursed, bud.”

“Cursed?” Newt asked incredulously. 

The snake flicked his tongue out at the man, smelling the curse wiggle around at it’s detection. “Yeah. It’s an old one. All the men in your family are probably really incompetent, huh? Probably nice, kind, strong, caring, but can never seem to catch a break? Maybe they have lofty dreams and ambitions? Maybe they never achieve anything at all besides keeping the family name going. Gotta have more kids to keep a curse going, you can’t snuff the bloodline out.”

Newt’s expression had turned to a more uncomfortable one. That was certainly true, but he didn’t like that Crowley would be able to know that. “It’s not their fault.”

“Oh, it’s one of them’s faults. You really gotta piss a witch off to get a curse like this. But the good news is I am fairly certain I can break it.”

Newt frowned, really not liking where this conversation was heading. They had been getting along so well, and now this demon was offering him something. “Why would you?”

Crowley made that weird shrug motion again by moving his coils up and down. “I literally have a week to kill till your girl gets home. What else am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know but you don’t need to involve me in it.”

“Woah, hey,” Crowley pulled back from the window, “I’m not trying to fight. Trust me you’d lose. I’m just offering to help you out, that’s all.”

Newton crossed his arms and glared at the snake, “and what would I have to do to make this happen? Do you want do damn me after all? Take my soul, demon?”

“Why would I want to do that?” Crowley was actually offended at this suggestion, “You humans, you always think I want something to do with your souls. I’m retired, Newt! I didn’t do crossroads deals when I worked for Hell anyway. Maybe I just want to do the right thing, huh?”

“I don’t believe you.” Newton scowled at him. “Anathema told me demons always want something. I didn’t even believe in demons till I met you just now but I know what she told me about them. I always listen when she talks, even if I don’t know what she’s talking about.”

Crowley sighed. “You’re technically right. With any other demon that would be the case. But I don’t work for hell, and I’m not exactly into the idea of securing more souls for them. I do not want to damn you, I just think it's fun to break a curse. It's not like I get to do this all the time, not exactly a bunch of multigenerational cursed floating about. It's fun, it's rare, it's something to do. That's all."

“Well…” Newt seemed to relax a little more at the admission. “How would you break it, then?”

“We would have to make a deal. A stereotypical looking thing, but again I don’t want your soul. It needs to be something spiritually worthwhile, but does not actually have to be important to you.”

Newt frowned, “like what? That doesn't make sense."

“Blood is the easiest, but if you're squeamish I can just take time.”

“Time?”

“You’d have to be a thrall for a week or so. Nothing gross, or weird, or anything. I'm not an incubus. I’m gonna be hanging out in your garden and I guess you would be too.”

“I don’t know...this sounds like something Anathema would actually kill me if I accept.”

“What’s she gonna do? Come back faster? That helps literally both of us out. If anyone can break a pact faster it’s her. The sooner I'm man shaped the sooner I leave you alone."

“And...I don’t go to hell if I accept this?”

“Absolutely not. No damning at all. I can even get it in writing. Actually it has to be in writing anyway. Rules, you know? Hell loves a paper trail."

Newt worried his lip and rubbed his forearms anxiously. “And...I’ll be able to do computer engineering for real? Like, actually make computers work and not just break everything I touch?”

“That’s the goal.”

Newt was quiet for a long while. Crowley knew how humans were about this kind of thing so he kept himself quiet, licking the air intermittently to taste how the curse was freaking out about it’s potential destruction. “Alright.” Newt finally spoke up. “I’ll do it."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Twitter @birbteef


End file.
